I’ve become one of those moms. The kind that gobbledygooks her day’s worth of drama upon meeting you.
Remember being the brand new mom on the playground? You were so caught up in looking perfect, with your brand new stroller, matching baby outfit and blankie, your little one all camera-ready in their Snuggle Me.
Fast forward seven years, and the first thing to come out of your mouth is how you can’t wait to get home so you can start washing all the snot off your walls, which are no longer white, but you don’t care, because you’ve given up. Christmas is coming and what would the mother-in-law say, so the snot has got to go, even if the fingerprints stay.
What happened between then and now? And which is the right way of being? The Stepford Wife newbie, self-conscious over what others think? Or the f***-it-all mom who’s not afraid to show everyone the jig is up?
While first time mom will try to look like they have it all together, by the time you’re on your second, third or fourth kid, many of us are pretty comfortable with fessing up about what a mess our lives are.
Is this gross? If it is, I’m over it. Mom sharing is the fuel for my fire; it keeps me going through snack time, dinner and bedtime mayhem. Not only are mom shares hilarious, but they also prove we’re still human. There’s still a person under all *this*, and maybe she doesn’t like her family so much at times.
And isn’t that fair? I mean, for us working moms the topic of kids is persona non grata in the office and we stifle our family lives to look more committed. And then the stay-at-home moms are passing ships in the playground, stealing a few words here and there before running off to save another kid from falling off the monkey bars. There’s not a whole lot of time we can just process being who we are, is there? Not a lot of opportunity for empathy, either, no matter where we find ourselves.
Which is why, even if it’s just during the 60 seconds at daycare drop-off, while we help the kids shed their winter snowsuits, I’m all ears if you want to tell me about what a nightmare breakfast was. Or roll your eyes over your kid’s head as you mouth swear words.
Sometimes I wonder, as I run through the school parking lot in my PJs, hair askew, if I haven’t gone too far? If perhaps, I should put on a better show, at least around the kids?
But then a fellow mom gobbledygooks all over me and we have a good laugh, and I say, screw it. The kids get all of me. Let me have this.
…
